The sight of fireflies on a June night
while watering the garden and
I am transported back to a yard
full of trees, on a hill in eastern
Somewhere a whip poor will
remembers my call.
From the house I can hear my
father still working, hammering
one last board before stopping for
I am safe among the trees as their
shadows fade into dusk. I can find
my way in the dark, capturing the
illusive luminous insects carefully
in a Mason jar.
I will fall asleep to their pulsating
lights, and they will be given
freedom by the same hands that
weilded the hammer and
kissed me goodnight.
Butterfly Bush and Dahlia –
I am inviting you Monarch
and Honey Bee, Bumble Bee
Come dine in my garden,
I welcome your appetites.